Hellfire: Hellbound Series Book 3

Chapter 4

Stephen

Pain sparked along Barsotti’s leg, the sudden twinge making his knee buckle. He hunched forward with a pained grunt and clutched the edge of the bathtub. With one foot on the tiled floor, he kneaded his inner thigh with the heel of his palm.

The tension gradually subsided.

He was used to spending hours inside a car. But mimicking Shrike’s workout routine right after an interstate road trip hadn’t been a smart idea. His body was going to hate him in the morning. His scar from the skin graft was already throbbing.

The doctor had taken strips of flesh from both of his inner thighs. They had long since healed without complications but still ached on occasion—a deep burn that he felt in his muscles.

Stephen ran his thumb over the sharp edge, along the seam where his normal skin tone gave way to a flushed pink. Sometimes, it was hard not to think about how doctors had essentially skinned him alive. Wrapping a plush hotel towel around his waist, he heard a dull thud and froze.

“And so begins another round of Was That a Demon or a Neighbor?” he muttered to himself as his stomach twisted.

Deciding that someone had closed a door from afar, he grabbed his toothbrush.

Lark’s laughter drifted into the bathroom. Despite the urgency to get back to their hotel room, her online meeting was dragging into its fourth unproductive hour.

The whole thing was organized chaos. People joined and left the chat at random. They jumped between topics, only to drop everything when a toddler or pet entered the room.

It seemed the only thing they agreed on was that they couldn’t discuss demons “just yet”.

Barsotti had tried to pay attention. All he had learned was that Lark detested people eavesdropping on her conversations. Despite using his laptop, the youngest Rose sibling had literally kicked him off the bed.

Meanwhile, Wren had transformed the other queen bed into a research nest. Since settling in with Barsotti’s emails with his FBI buddy, he hadn’t left the bed. Illegible notes, poor quality printouts, and secondhand books were scattered around him.

The coffee-stained files were drying on camping clotheslines they had strung about, which transformed the room into an obstacle course.

They had stopped at a grocery store on their way into town. Lark’s herbs now overran the small table. The groceries Wren had bought filled the side table.

Barsotti was still unsure what they were cooking in their decrepit electric Crock-Pot. Whatever it was, it had too much garlic. The stench invaded the bathroom as he searched for where Wren had put his toothpaste.

Stephen crouched down to search through one of the Rose siblings’ bags. Pain shot up his legs, making his aching thigh spasm and his knee buckle. He dropped onto his hip and clasped his leg with both hands. It took some massaging to get the muscle to loosen up. It was hard to tell if he was more frustrated or jealous.

Shrike wasn’t struggling.

He had always prided himself on being fit, especially given how hard he worked to recover from his injuries. But Shrike’s “light workout” had kicked his ass. The woman was a monster.

No wonder her thighs look like that, he thought as he stretched out his leg.

The second the room had been arranged, Shrike had started a workout. Judging by Wren and Lark’s disinterest, this was the norm.

It was fascinating to watch the siblings’ routine. They never got in each other’s way, even while seemingly utilizing every inch of space.

Barsotti had been nothing more than an interloper. Both underfoot and ignored. It was eerily similar to his family’s Sunday dinners.

That was when he had made the stupid decision to mirror Shrike. He should have known he was in over his head. No one could keep that much muscle without going overboard.

Barsotti was pretty sure she went harder just to watch him struggle to keep up. He would be nursing a bruised ego and aching back for the next few days. His leg might hate him, but he had completed the routine with her. Then Shrike had gone for a shower, and boredom had set in.

Without the competition to distract him, he was right back to being in the way. And that was hard to ignore every time Lark’s group took a break. She would rush about, getting herbs and snacks and drinks. He couldn’t get out of the way without frustrating Wren or running into a clothesline.

It had been embarrassing how quickly he escaped into the bathroom when Shrike was done. He had been hiding in the tub ever since.

Lark was right, Barsotti thought as he grabbed the sink and climbed back onto his feet. The tub is well worth the extra charge. He wiggled his leg to get rid of the final tremors, found his toothbrush and, after rinsing it, hurriedly brushed his teeth.

Something tapped against glass. Barsotti kept his eyes on the bathroom window while spitting toothpaste foam into the sink.

It’s too soon, he thought, trying to calm his nerves. It can’t be him. Shadow People can’t travel that fast.

The reality was that he didn’t really know what his demonic stalker was capable of. That uncertainty sat heavily in the pit of his stomach.

Assess before you react, he reminded himself.

Biting on his toothbrush, he strained to hear the slightest sound.